Starting Out
by Just4Funzzies
Summary: Elizabeth's POV at the beginning of her life with Phillip. I hope you like it! Please review :)
1. Chapter 1

I never imagined it would happen so soon—deep down I'd hoped it wouldn't happen at all. It couldn't be that easy, could it? He'd barely touched me. It was nothing at all like my sister described. It was so quick, so cold, so….technical.

No, it couldn't be. Jane said those pills would work. She swore it when she gave them to me and I took them just like told me to.

"One pill each day at the exact same time." She said.

It wasn't hard to hide it from Phillip. I kept them tucked away in the bottom of my jewelry box. Each morning, as I slipped on my wedding ring, I'd pull out my tiny white miracle drug. And before he'd even gotten out of bed, I had already lied to him.

It's not as awful as it sounds. Jane said all American women are taking them nowadays. It would have seemed odd to these people if I didn't have a tiny box of pills stashed away in my jewelry box.

Besides, I can't have a baby right now. It's too soon. Our handler said I'd have plenty of time to adjust to my new life before we'd have to start a family. And yet we were just ten weeks into the mission when the orders came through.

I know what they're saying back at home-American couples all have children; it won't seem real without them-But how am I supposed to stay focused on my job with a screaming child in my home? It can't be done.

Phillip talks about having kids so much it makes me sick. He'll point out the little toys at the store our kids will "have to have!" We'll pass a field and he'll joke that one day our son will have to teach him how to play this "American football" sport because he's never seen anything like it.

I wonder if he had a lot of brothers and sisters back at home. Or perhaps a couple of little nieces or nephews? How else would he know so much about kids? Or maybe it's the opposite, he didn't have anyone. That's why he's so ready to have a family of his own.

I sit up on the couch and my head spins. The small picture frames on the wall of our apartment seem to dance in circles and just looking at the television makes me wish I hadn't had any of the toast Phillip made me that morning.

It's the first time I've been vertical all day. I move the trash can from the side of the couch and reach for the small book on the coffee table. Phillip picked it up for me from the library as a special surprise yesterday. The main character comes from a small town in the Soviet Union. The author describes the landscapes, the people, the towns. I close my eyes and for a moment I get to be back in my mother's house.

"Hey! You're up." His voice calls.

Phillip walks through the door with a huge grin across his face. He drops his bag by the front door and comes to sit down beside me.

"How are you feeling?" he says. "Any better than before?"

I shake my head.

He takes a peek at the trash can, "Well you kept your toast down. That's better than yesterday."

I give a hint of a smile, "How did your meeting go?"

His eyes narrow and he looks down at his hands, "We're running out of time."

"Well they're not giving us anything to work off of."

"They don't have much. Just a few sources that say the American government has a team developing a sort of vaccination reversal drug."

"There have been rumors of that before, each time-"

"This time, it's for real. They put it in the water, in the food, in our—their—produce, the whole nation lacks immunity to something terrible –smallpox maybe. The Americans bring a little over and it would spread like a wildfire. A second coming of the plague. Within months thousands are dead, the drug is long gone, and the UN can't put a virus on trial."

"What do they want us to do?"

"You don't do anything. I told them you weren't feeling up to it."

I can feel my eyes widen, "You what? Why would you do that?"

"'Cause you're not."

"I'm fine. I've never stood down for a mission yet. I don't need them doubting me now."

"I think they understand that you're taking part in another, more important, mission."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He scoots closer to me and puts his hand on my stomach, "The future of the motherland."

I push his hand aside and back away to the edge of the sofa, "That's not for sure yet!"

His smile falls away and I can tell I have once again hurt his feelings. If he would just learn his boundaries-he can't sit so close to me, he can't just put his hand on my stomach. He's not my husband. I'm not his wife. We're nothing more than business partners. What can't he understand that?

"I swore I would be good to you. Why can't you do the same for me?" he says.

"This isn't enough for you?" I say, gesturing to where his hand just was, "This from the poor boy who gets to keep control over his body, who was able to go out working today while I couldn't even get up off of the couch let alone out of the apartment."

"That's not fair." He says.

"Who do you think is going to be up at night feeding him? Hmm? Who do you think is going to have to give up time at work, time alone, time with people my own age, so that we can look like the perfect family of three? I can bet it's not going to be you. You can barely take care of yourself."

He stands up, turns his back toward me and walks to the kitchen. His head is down and he's doing that pitiful dragging of his feet he does whenever he's hurt.

I reach toward him, "Phillip, wait."

He keeps walking with his eyes staring at the ground, "Phillip, come on. I'm sorry." I say.

He turns around and points his finger at my face, his eyes wide open "You will never talk to my children that way."


	2. Chapter 2

Here's the next chapter! Let me know what you think! Is Elizabeth being too cold?

I've never seen him act like this. Granted, it's only been three months, but in that time he's always been composed, calm—even, well, kind to me. I don't think he's ever raised his voice at me- despite all the times I probably deserved it.

I would prefer yelling to this. My father used to act this way when he was upset and now I can understand why it drove my mother crazy. It's been over two hours and Phillip has stayed hidden in our bedroom perfectly silent the whole time.

I try to focus on reading the notes Phillip left on the table about his upcoming orders. It seems they're sending him to a lab in New York. Unfortunately, I didn't get much beyond that. With the constant dizziness and Phillip's drama in the next room, I can't seem to get much work out of the way. He's becoming such a distraction.

The door to our room creaks open and I sit up on the couch in response.

"Hey!" I say cheerfully; a small attempt at an olive branch.

He doesn't respond. Instead, he walks toward our refrigerator and whips open the door. The light from the refrigerator illuminates his grim face.

"You hungry? You want to get some dinner?" I call to him.

He stares into the refrigerator as if he were studying the milk and jam on the shelves. He's really not making our job easy, is he?

I make yet another attempt at peace, "We could go out? There's that new restaurant you wanted to try down the street."

He still doesn't respond.

"Or I could make you something? I know how much you liked when I cooked for you last time." I say.

I can see him fighting back a smile at the second offer. I tried cooking for him our first week together in the states. I had too much grease in the pan and nearly set fire to our apartment. We had to leave every window in the apartment open for a good week and a half just to get the smell out. Our handlers wouldn't be thrilled if they didn't get their security deposit back. Even then, he didn't yell at me. He just smiled and said, "It's okay. It's nice having fresh air in the apartment."

It was the middle of January.

I turn to my last resort. It's the one thing I can do that I know will get a response out of him. I stand up from the couch, "You can't stay mad at me forever."

I wait for him to react-not to what I said, but to that fact that I said it in our native tongue.

His eyes widen and he slams the door to the refrigerator shut, "Are you insane?" he says under his breath.

"At least now I have your attention." I say.

He marches toward me, "If they heard you talk like that the mission is over!" he whispers.

"Then you won't ignore me again." I say.

"You shouldn't have done that." He says.

"Relax. There's nobody listening!" I say.

"You don't know that!" he says, "We have neighbors on every side of us!"

"I don't think the old lady with the five cats is spying on us."

"That's not the point. You know the rules."

"I can't speak English all the time. It makes my head spin."

"You don't have a choice. The other language doesn't exist to us anymore. We don't speak it. We don't understand it. Not at the store, not when we hear it on television, never. We can't respond to it. It's too risky. When you do that you put all of us at risk."

He knows he has my attention now, "Don't say _all _of us!"

"It _is_ all of us. You, me…"

"Don't say it!"

"And the baby."

I cross my arms and look away, "You know I don't like that, Phillip!"

"What else am I supposed to call it?"

"Another phase in the mission. That's what you call it. It's just another step we were ordered to take in a much bigger mission."

"How can you say that?"

"Because I'm doing my part for my country the only way I know how. We're not playing house. We're not a family! It's not our child!"

"It is our child."

"No it's not. Not to me."

I can see the color drain from his cheeks. His eyes roam around the room, avoiding looking into mine. Finally he speaks.

"You know we haven't met that many people in this country. We could easily move and nobody would remember our faces. Maybe it's time we look into getting matched with other people."

"What?" I say, shocking even myself with my gut response.

"I'll talk to our handler tomorrow and see what can be done."

"You don't mean that."

"I do mean it!"

"But you can't do that. It's too late. What about the…"

I cut myself off. It's too real when I say it out loud.

He glares back at me, "When you have the baby I'll have him sent to live with my new wife and me. I'm sure anyone would love him more than you would."

"You don't really believe that." I say.

"I don't know what to believe anymore! You know the day I met you I was relieved. I was actually relieved. You were so confident, so focused, so passionate about our mission."

"And now?"

"And now, now-I just wonder, is there any part of you that is passionate about anything else."

"The mission's why were here." I say.

He hesitates for a moment, "That's what I thought."

He begins to walk away before turning back at me, "I guess I just don't understand what's so terrible about me, about us, that you can't even bare the thought of having a family together. What is so scary about having people around to love you?"

I look up and meet his gaze, "Its more people to lose."

"Well now you don't have to worry about that."


	3. Chapter 3

Hope you liked chapter two! Here's chapter three! Let me know what you think :)

For the first time in three months, I sleep alone on the couch. The sounds of the apartment seem foreign now. The quiet ticking of the kitchen clock is suddenly the loudest sound in the apartment. The grumble of the furnace pulls me in and out of sleep and my heart pounds when I hear the steps of our neighbors walking by our only door.

I check that our door is locked and chained and try to fall back asleep. In my dreams, we've already made up. I've crawled back into bed with him and instantly feel a sense of calmness. The noises seem softer lying next to him and I am finally able to get the rest I have so badly needed.

Instead, I wake to my shoulder being shaken back and forth.

"Get up!" a voice says. "Come on, get up."

I open my eyes and slowly the world comes into focus. Through the darkness, I can make out Phillip's soft dark hair, his unshaven face.

"Are you awake?" he says.

"What time is it?" I say.

"Get up. They want us at the site."

I turn onto my side and face the back of the couch, "You told them I wasn't feeling up for work."

He grabs my shoulder and rolls me back toward him, "You're fine. Get dressed."

I sit up and run my hands through my knotted hair, "It's two in the morning. Are you going to tell me what's going on?"

He hands me a small stack of solid black clothes, "The drug's is being stored in a small warehouse in upstate New York.

"So?" I say.

"And as of sixty minutes ago 2000 vials have gone missing. Get dressed."

"Don't speed, Phillip." I say.

He glares at me and shakes his head, "What? Too risky for you?"

I sit back in my seat and ignore the bait. I don't have the energy to fight with him right now. I lean my head up against the frosted window beside me as we drive.

I feel his hand tap against my shoulder, "We're almost there. Don't go back to sleep."

"I'm not."

"Sit like that and you'll be out in five minutes tops."

"Just drive." I say.

I force myself to ignore the storm brewing in the pit of my stomach as he drives. I shut my eyes and try not to pay attention to the endless bumps in the road, and the sharp turns he seems to be taking faster every time.

Out of the corner of my eye I can see Phillip looking back and forth between the road and me.

He gives a little sigh, "You're fine right?" he says impatiently.

I roll my eyes, "What do you care? Tomorrow it won't be your problem."

He pulls the car into a tiny alley-way and turns off the engine. "It is tomorrow. Guess we have another day together."

He reaches into the back seat and grabs two black bags. I stretch a dark face mask over my head and slip my gun into the inside of jacket. Phillip does the same.

Phillip guides us to a small fire escape on the side of an old brick building. The first part of the ladder hangs a good eight feet above the ground.

He kneels down and I step into his cradled hands. My own hands barely reach the old iron ladder. I lock my feet between the railings and reach down for my partner. I pull him to the edge and he climbs onto the landing. He points to a tiny window a floor above us.

Phillip works to slowly open the window and we crawl inside. He leads through the kitchen into a tiny back hallway. The door behind Phillip swings open and a man comes dashing through. He kicks Phillip in the stomach and Phillip doubles over, barely able to catch his breath. I back away slowly, hoping he was only aware of one unexpected visitor. Suddenly light fills the tiny hallway. My eyes squint to adjust and everything in front of me slowly comes into focus.

It's the guy I saw in Phillip's files. Dr. Wyle-the one who ordered the transfer, the only one who truly knows where the drugs were sent and for what purpose. But at this point in time, I can't think past the tiny black pistol in his hand that's aimed right at my husband.


	4. Chapter 4

"Bam!"

I cringe as the noise shoots through the apartment and for a moment I can't distinguish a single sound from the ringing in my ears.

The bullet dashes through the wall just grazing Phillips curls. This guy either has perfect aim-or none at all. The vibrations send an old picture frame crashing to the ground by my feet. I back further under the table and my sweaty hands attempt to get a grip around my gun.

"Get your hands where I can see them. Now!" Wyle yells.

Phillip lifts his arms in defeat and Wyle walks toward him. Wyle reaches for Phillip and begins to search for a weapon Phillip should have in his hand by now. Wyle smirks as he pulls out Phillip's gun.

"That's what I thought." Wyle says.

Wyle clicks the two weapons and shoves one in each of Phillip's ears.

"Who sent you here?" he says so quietly it's almost a whisper.

Phillip keeps his head up and the doctor pushes the guns further into him. I can barely hear above the sound of my pounding heart. I cover my mouth, a weak attempt at hiding the noise of my constant panting.

"Who sent you here!?" he repeats.

Wyle steps closer to Phillip, their heads just centimeters apart.

"Who sent you here to kill me!?"

Phillip gives a faint smile, "If we wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

Phillip slams his head forward sending Wyle to the ground. Wyle reaches for the bleeding gash on his forehead. He drops the two guns and another bullet rings through the apartment.

I pull out my weapon and turn the corner. I force my gun against his bloody, gray hair and command him to the ground. Phillip ties his arms behind his back and I cover his mouth with masking tape. Phillip takes back his gun and points it at Wyle.

He tosses me the keys, "Bring the car to the side of the building."

"What?!" I say, "That's not the plan!"

"Just do it!"

"We take him down the escape. It's the best way."

"I can't get down the escape!"

My eyes follow his hand as he reaches for his pant leg. As he presses the cloth against his ankle it quickly changes a bright shade of red.

The second bullet didn't just hit the wall. Instead of backing toward the window I find myself kneeling beside him.

"Are you alright?" I say.

I press my hand on his wound and watch as my hands turn the same shade of red. His face is pale—so pale-and I can see beads of sweat dripping down his face.

"I'll get you something to wrap it with." I say.

"I'm fine! Go!" he says.

"But you're…"

"Bring it to the side door and wait for us. Go!"

I wipe my hands on my pants and back away. I follow our path down the fire escape and drop to the ground. I keep the car lights off and turn the small, dark corner to the workman's entrance to the building.

There's no way he can get Wyle down by himself-not with that leg, and not without being seen.

I roll down the window and let the contents of my dinner fall to the ground. I wipe my face with my sleeve and stare at the door.

Minutes go by and there is still no sign of them. I tap against the steering wheel and my eyes remain fixated on the old door.

"Come on," I whisper.

The knob slowly turns and two dark shadows appear. Phillip has his gun against Wyle's back I get out of the front seat and walk toward Phillip.

"Trunk?" I say.

"Back seat." He responds. "I promised if he kept quiet."

I swing open the back door and we force him inside.

We take our seats and Phillip pulls a small syringe from the glove compartment. Wyle's out the moment the needle hits his arm. His head is bent completely forward against his check.

"Well that can't be a very cozy way for our poor guest to sleep." He says.

He smiles at me and I start the car. Once we hit the highway Phillip pulls off his shirt revealing a site I hadn't seen in weeks. He takes his top and wraps it around his bleeding ankle.

"That should hold it till we get to the drop site." He says

I try to keep my eyes from drifting from the road. I forgot how fit he was-His solid six-pack rising with every breath. American men just aren't built like ours.

I give him a little smile, "If you bleed through it, you can always take off your pants too."


	5. Chapter 5

Here's the next part! I hope you enjoy it! Thanks so much for all your reviews!

The row of street lights come to an end and I veer off the highway onto a small dirt path through the woods. The car tumbles as it struggles through the twisted vines and broken branches of the forest. Phillip winces at each shake of the car and reaches for his swollen leg. His shirt is completely soaked through now and the blood has flowed onto his palms and under his finger nails. The color in his face is gone. His skin is a pale, ashen color and his lips are quickly turning blue. His chest rises with each labored breath and I can feel his shaking body next to mine.

"Just a few more minutes. We're almost at the site. Hang in there." I say.

His head barely nods. I glance at him just in time to see his eyelids slowly droop closed. I clutch his shoulder and shake it with what little strength I have remaining.

"Stay awake for me, Phillip! Just a bit more."

I keep my arm on him and attempt to hold him steady for what's coming next. I make a sharp left at the old dumpster-my only landmark on a very vague map and I can hear him fight back a groan.

"You need…." He takes a deep breath, "driving lessons."

I smile; thrilled he's still well enough to speak, "You'll have to teach me some time."

I don't get a response. His head falls forward and his eyes drift away. I slam on the breaks and reach for him, barely stopping his nose from crashing into the dashboard.

"Phillip!?" I say.

His eyes roll further back into his head and I can feel the weight of his body in my arms. I make sure he is stabilized in his seat and swing open the door on my side. I kneel beside the car and feel through the darkness for the edge of the car rug. My hand scans the entire surface, feeling every crumb Phillip's left behind, but no lever.

"Come on!" I whisper.

I stick my finger in the corner of the car floor and in one solid swoop rip out the entire sheet of brown carpeting. Underneath, I see the tiny lever. I pull the small compartment open and grab the bag with what he needs.

I cross the front of the car to the passenger side and loop my arms under his shoulders. I struggle to carry his weight as I remove him from the car tug by tug. I lay his head in a small pile of leaves and keep his legs elevated on the floor of the car.

The movement just barely wakes him, and I can hear him mumbling something to himself.

I ravage through the bag until I see the slight reflection of the syringe. My hands shake as I screw the small needle into place. I attempt to remember what we learned in basic training. Puncture. Aspirate. Inject.

"Puncture. Aspirate. Inject." I whisper to myself.

I use my left hand to keep my right steady as I guide the long needle toward his leg. Phillip inhales sharply letting me know I've gotten through his skin. I can hear the clatter of the metal pieces as my thumb pulls back on the head of the syringe. A tiny bubble forms in the anesthetic, my signal to inject, and I shoot the entire carpule into him.

I toss the syringe aside and give the medicine a moment to work. The bullet's not in Phillip anymore-it couldn't be. I saw the hole it made in the wall with my own eyes. I start to untie his make-shift bandage and his hand makes a weak attempt at pushing mine away.

"It's just for a moment." I say.

With each unraveling of the cloth around his leg the blood flows heavier. A small puddle of red quickly forms in front of my knees. I drop his shirt into the mud and pull out a large roll of gauze. He looks up at me, displeased with my treatment.

"It's the best we can do for now."

He angles his head just the slightest bit toward the bag, "Hook," he whispers.

I shake my head, "No, I've never done that on somebody."

"The hook!" he repeats.

I ignore his request and begin wrapping the gauze around the entrance and exit wounds. He throws back his head in defeat and the leaves crackle beneath him.

"The guys will do it for you at the contact point."

I tie off the bandage and tear off the excess with my teeth. I hold out my hand to him.

"Come on, let's get you back in the car."

He can barely clutch his hand around mine. I stand behind him and attempt to lift him once again under his shoulders. My small arms are no match against the dead weight of his body.

"Help me out here." I say.

My heart quickens when he doesn't respond. I lay him back down the ground and make sure I can feel air passing through his nose and a beat in his neck.

"Phillip!" I yell, grinding my knuckles against his chest, "Wake up! Please, please wake up!"

My eyes burn and I can feel the water flowing to them. I continue to force my hand against his chest but he barely flinches.

"He needs fluids." A voice calls.

My head snaps toward the sound—half in shock and half relieved that help has finally arrived.

"What?" I say.

But when I look behind me I see no-one. Suddenly my eyes meet another set glaring back at me through the backseat window; eyes that should still be fast asleep.

"He needs fluids." The doctor repeats.


	6. Chapter 6

Sorry that took so long for an update! It's finals week here and I've had to actually study :( I hope you enjoy the next chapter. Be sure to leave a review!

"He needs intravenous fluids—possibly a transfusion. He's already lost too much blood." He says.

"I can't do that for him!" I say.

"Then I suggest you get him to a hospital."

I glare back at him, "That's not exactly an option either.

"Well then you should probably be doing more to stop the bleeding." He says flatly.

"Like what?" I say.

He just sits there and shrugs his shoulders. Piece of shit doctor.

I get up from the dirt path and swing open the passenger door. The gun clicks and I force the barrel into his temple.

"Like what?!" I say.

"I don't know. I can't work with a gun in my head. It's quite distracting."

The color rushes from his skin as I push the gun further into him.

"Try harder."

"Did you put pressure on the wound?"

"You saw that I did."

"And did you elevate.."

"You know what I did! Tell me what I need to do."

"I don't know. I'd have to examine him—"

"Bull shit! You saw the whole thing! You put the bullet in him. What does he need?"

He hesitates for a moment and looks down at his hands tied together.

"Perhaps if you removed these I could irrigate and suture."

He holds up his attached hands to me as if he were pleading.

"That's not going to happen." I say.

He lowers his hands and shrugs, "Then I'm afraid I can't help you."

I lower my gun and slam the door to the car. I reach into the emergency kit and pull out a small pack of string with a tiny metal hook on the end. I kneel next to Phillip and attempt to steady my hand as I unwrap the pair of hemostats from the packaging.

There was something about the loops. That's all I can remember that from basic training. It was something about wrapping it one way a couple times then the other way a couple times.

Something like that.

I take a deep breath and clamp the metal hook with the hemostats. Again, I use my left hand to steady my shaky right hand as I poke the hook through his flesh.

"I wouldn't do it like that." Wyle calls out to me.

"You wouldn't do it all!" I say.

My hands continue to jitter as I force the metal hook through his skin. Finally, I see the shiny tip of the hook poking through the other side.

"You didn't irrigate. Even if you stop the bleeding he's going to get an infection and…"

"Shut up!" I say.

I turn back to Phillip and swallow hard. I unclamp the hemostats and reach for the tiny metal tip peaking through the other side of his skin. When I have a firm grasp on the hook I slowly attempt to pull the string through to the other side. I nearly have it across when the string rips straight through his skin leaving me with a long dangling string in my hand.

"Damn it!" I say.

I leave the sutures and hemostats on Phillip's slowly rising chest. I open the car door and reach for Wyle's tied hands.

"You've got five minutes." I say, untangling the knots around his wrist. "Get him stable. You run—you try anything funny—you get a bullet in the back. You understand?"

"And my legs." He says in that same bland tone from before.

I look down at the knots of rope Phillip tied around Wyle's ankles.

"I don't think so." I say.

"Then I can't help you."

I point my gun in his face, "I think you can."

"I can't help your boyfriend if you kill me now can I? It would be a shame such a shame, wouldn't it? For your child to grow up without a father."

The words force all the air from my chest, "How did you..?"

"You should get some stronger drugs. Those barely sedated me in the car."

I keep my gun where it belongs and kneel down to follow his orders. I untie the double knots Phillip made and let him loose.

"There" I say looking up at him, "You have fiv…"

A giant boot smashes into my jaw. I'm thrown back by the force into the dirt below me. I lay there, unable to move, feeling the warmth of my own blood trickling down my cheek, and watching those same boots run off into the woods.


	7. Chapter 7

Here's the next chapter!I hope you enjoy it! Now that finals are over I should be able to get back to posting more often :) Let me know what you think! Thanks for all the support!

I wake to a man kneeling over me. He presses his cold fingers against my carotid and brings his ear against my chest. I can feel the warmth of his breath against me as he waits. Suddenly, he sits up and turns to the side.

"He was right! She's still alive!" He calls out.

"This one too." His partner responds.

Our contacts. It must be our contacts. Thank God they found us.

The man turns back toward me and seems to notice the slight flutter in my eyes.

"This one's up!" He calls to his partner.

I try to recall his short blonde hair, his almond-shaped eyes but I have little luck. He must be yet another new recruit. It's amazing how quickly we can train our guys.

I feel a prick against my forehead and I inhale sharply.

"Sorry," he says, "Just a bit of lido."

"How is he?" I say, my voice little more than a scratchy whisper.

"Shhh." he responds, "Don't worry. We've got him. He's in good hands."

"Don't go searching for the bullet. He's lost so much blood already and it went straight through him into the wall-"

"I know, I know we're going to take care of you both."

The pain in my head begins to fade and the blonde man pulls out a suture kit. The gash in my forehead continues to send blood down the side of my face as he sews the two flaps of skin back together.

"Wyle couldn't have gone far. Have your handler send a team to do a five mile radius search of the woods. There's no way he found his way back to the main road by now."

He nods, barely acknowledging my orders.

"And have Vlad send a team to Wyle's apartment. We checked the place—the wife's gone-no kids—you shouldn't run into any trouble."

Beside me his partner reaches under Phillip and I hold out my arm in protest.

"Don't move him!" I say. "He's not stable!"

The blonde man gently lowers my arm, "We have to. We've got more supplies back at the tent."

"Then bring them here! He's not ready to be moved."

"We were ordered to take him there for treatment."

"By who?"

He hesitates for a moment, "Vlad asked us personally."

I give a slight nod of approval and the man lifts Phillip into his arms. Phillip's head and legs dangle as the man grips his midsection. He leans back slightly to carry Phillip's dead weight to the small car they have stationed next to ours.

My posture relaxes and the man continues to work on my head.

The blonde man reaches into his bag and pulls out another carpule. Pulling the head of the syringe back he loads the next round of anesthetic and let's a small amount of fluid flow from the tip of the needle.

"The wound's a little deeper than I thought. I'm just going to give you a little something stronger to keep you comfortable."

I lean toward him and await the sting. He lifts his arm to me and his sleeve falls back to his elbow. As he injects, I notice the small marking on his right forearm. It's not much, a small name written in perfectly penned cursive with a red heart below it. Through the darkness, I try to make out the name-maybe his wife or a girlfriend's name.

"How long have you had that?" I say, gesturing toward the tattoo.

He smiles, "Too long."

"They don't mind it at the center?" I say.

"Why would they?"

The man caps the syringe and places it back in his bag. Before I can speak my head begins to feel light again and my eyelids start to droop.

When my eyes reopen I'm in a small, dark tent. Just a few small lanterns light the space around me and I can hear the rain coming down against our make-shift roof. I'm lying on a rickety cot with a few fleece blankets to keep me warm.

I lift my hand from the blankets and feel a bandage against my forehead. To my right, Phillip is fast asleep on the cot next to me-his chest steadily rising and falling under the blankets they've placed on him.

They've wrapped his leg and the bandage lacks the slightest bit of red seeping through it.

My relief fades when I remember the small badge on his arm.

I wanted to tell him that we're forbidden from obtaining any positive identification marks. That a tattoo makes any sort of cover nearly impossible. That he should know better and that he could be deported and tried for breaking a law that every KGB recruit should know.

A law that any KGB recruit would know.


	8. Chapter 8

Hi Everyone! Sorry it's been a while I've been studying for boards (which is about as fun as it sounds...) Don't be too mad I wrote you an extra long chapter to make up for it! Enjoy! :)

I look around the space for any sign of the blond man and his friend. Their supply bags remain in a small pile by the waving nylon flap of the tent. Beside their bags, a curling cloud of steam seeps from two Styrofoam coffee cups.

The coffee must still be warm-they couldn't have been gone long.

A small mud puddle grows from the rain dripping through the widening gap and I can't help enjoy watching the brown river slowly approach their limited supplies.

I keep my eyes guarding tent door and slowly peel the layers of blankets wrapped around me to the side.

I look down at my bare feet in frustration-they took my shoes too?

The tapping of the rain above me masks the clamor of my cot as I crawl to the floor. I stay close to the ground to avoid making any shadows and kneel beside Phillip.

I gently shake his shoulder as I do most mornings, "Phillip….Phillip get up." I whisper.

Usually he'd push my hand away and roll onto his other side. But this time, he just remains still.

What'd they give us?

I make a fist with my left hand and force my knuckles back and forth across his chest-the edge of my diamond ring marking his chest with bright red stripes.

"Come on Phillip. Get up for me."

His eyes begin to flutter and I press my fist harder against him.

"Come on!" I say.

He inhales sharply and his eyes widen. He looks around the room trying to take in his surroundings, trying to remember what happened. But there was no time for that.

"Get up, Phillip. We gotta go."

He wipes his eyes like a groggy child, "What's going on?"

I throw his blanket to the ground and pull his arm to sit him up. He runs his fingers over the fresh white bandage on his leg.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have let them touch you."

His eyes travel back and forth as he attempts to remember- "There were two men."

He says, almost as if it were a question.

I kneel down beside their bags and start packing some of their food into my pockets, "We have to hurry. They couldn't be far."

"Elizabeth, what happened?"

"I thought they were our contacts. You were so sick and they knew how to help. I'm so sorry. I should have known…"

He leans down beside me, places his arms calmly on my shoulders and turns me toward him."

"Elizabeth," he repeats softly, "What happened?"

"They're not who they say they are." I say.

"You're sure?"

I nod, "The man called his anesthetic lido."

"So?"

"Lidocaine hasn't been approved yet by the center…we're still ordered to give procaine."

"So he picked up some newer drugs while working over here that doesn't mean…"

"That's what I thought. And then I saw the tattoo on his right forearm."

His face stiffens, "You're sure?"

I gesture to my own arm, "A bright red heart and a cursive name right here."

"An easily identifiable mark." He quotes from our very first few days of training.

"They never would have allowed him through training with that." I say. "I saw people pulled for having too distinct of a birth mark-A tattoo as obvious as that—The Americans could pick you from a line-up of a hundred in minutes."

He looks down at my working hands, "Is there anything good in there?"

I shake my head, "Best we have is a plastic knife."

"So we can distract them by making sandwiches, perfect."

"You have anything better?"

He takes a quick look around the tent. His eyes catch the small metal pole strapping the tent down to the dirt. He reaches and pulls the shiny rod from the ground. He examines the pole and presses his finger against its pointy tip.

"Better than nothing." He says, tucking it under his arm.

He watches as I continue to take snacks from the supply bag.

"What are you picking out food for? Grab the whole bag."

"They'll notice it missing right away." I say.

He smiles, "I think they'll notice us missing first."

He throws a strap over his shoulder and reaches for the other bag.

"I'll take it." I say.

He takes the bag from my hand and hangs it from his other shoulder, "_I'll_ take it."

Phillip takes a quick glance through the flap of the tent, "They left the car. Give me five minutes- I'll get it wired. I'll bring it to the side-."

"No, I'm going with you."

"No, you stay here."

"I'll stand guard." I say.

"That's ridiculous-it's easier to hide one person that two. If they're out there they'll…"

"I'm not separating from you again. You get the car started I'll pack up the supplies and stand guard."

"Elizabeth…"

"Don't argue with me just do it."

"Is that how it is now?"

"That's how it's always been."

He lingers for a moment then pulls back the flap of the tent, "After you."

I can't see far beyond the pouring rain. I attempt to scan the area but I can't distinguish much of anything between the trees. The car doesn't seem to be anywhere in sight.

"Car's over to the left." I hear Phillip whisper in my ear. "Stay close to the side of the tent, check around the corner for visitors, then dash for the front seat."

"I know." I say.

"You were looking off to the right."

I roll my eyes. I can't argue with that.

I keep my back against the side of the tent and inch toward the corner. I peek around the side and see only the dark forest. I wave for Phillip to follow. He clutches his new weapon and stays close behind me.

"On three." He says. "One…"

I take a deep breath, "Two."

"Three." He whispers. I feel him nudge my back and suddenly I'm running toward the car. I can feel my bare feet sinking into the cold mud with every step. Mud splashes up against my pant leg and I hear Phillip sloshing through the puddles behind me.

"Go, go, go." He says, reaching for my arm."

I crouch down by the passenger seat of the old maroon station wagon. I can hear the glass shatter and Phillip reaching to unlock both doors. I tuck myself into the foot space under the glove compartment and Phillip removes a small panel under the steering wheel.

A hint of light reflects from the tiny corner of the rearview mirror.

"Phillip…" I say.

"Almost got it." He says.

The glow grows and soon the lights of two tiny flashlights are speeding toward

us.

"Phillip!" I repeat.

"Almost done." He says, trying to keep his composure.

I watch through the mirror as they run through our tracks in the mud. I can hear the one man screaming to the other but I can't make out what he's saying.

"Lock your door." He says flatly.

I obey and despite the missing window on his side he locks his door too. He flinches when a few sparks fly between his wires and the engine comes to life.

He sits up in the driver seat and puts the car in drive.

"Stay down." He says.

He reaches for his seat belt and four dirty fingers wrap around the edge of the cracked window.

"Phillip!" I say, pointing toward our visitor. I take the metal pole from his lap and smash the four fingers against the sharp glass edges of the window.

Phillip slams his foot on the accelerator and the wheels spin viciously in the deep mud.

"Damn it!" he says.

He puts the car in reverse and slams down again, sending the car speeding back toward the tent. The car jumps and we hear our wheels run over one of the men.

"Oooh" Phillip says, "That's gonna take more than lido and a bandage."

We wind through the woods and find our way back to a small country road just as the rain lightens. I get up from the ground and settle in the passenger seat.

Phillip turns to me, "You buckled?"

"I'm fine." I say.

"Just do it."

He reaches across me and pulls my belt to the buckle.

"But you're fine with me getting into knife fights with the people here."

We sit in silence for a moment and I lean my head against the window.

"Where are you going?"

"To the center."

I sit up straight, "You can't bring a stolen car to the center."

"You have a better idea?"

"There's a gas station a few blocks back. We'll leave the car by the river, walk to the gas station and call for backup."

He looks back and forth between the road and me, "That would also work."

He makes a sharp turn with the wheel and guides the car to the side of the overpass. I step out of the car just as the sun starts to make its appearance above the river. I put our two supply bags on the ground while I wait for Phillip to finish the job. He steps beside the car and kneels down. He takes our only weapon and forces the metal pole between the edge of the driver's seat and the accelerator. Within seconds the old station wagon is at the bottom of the river.

Phillip shrugs his shoulders, "Americans don't care about pollution anyway."

He holds out his hand to help me up from the ditch, "Come on," he says with a smile, "if we hurry we'll have time to stop for breakfast."

I take a step toward him and a sharp pain shoots down my side. I grip my side and Phillip comes down next to me.

"You okay?"

I keep my tone light, "Fine, just stepped funny."

"Elizabeth, you're bleeding."

I reach for my head, "Still? So much for their bandage-"

He pulls my hand away from my forehead and points to the ground.

"No, Elizabeth. You're bleeding."

I look up to meet his gaze but his eyes are fixated on the ground below me-where drops of red are trickling down my leg.


	9. Chapter 9

"Did you cut your leg?" he says, guiding me to a soft spot on the ground. He puts down his bag and starts rolling up my soaked pant leg.

I shake my head, "I don't think so."

Phillip kneels over my right leg and examines every surface, "You're sure? Does anything hurt you?"

I lean back on the palms of my hands, "Everything hurts."

"But nothing on your leg?"

His voice is shaken, high-pitched almost—nothing like the firm tone he used with Wyle.

"It's nothing. The blood is probably yours."

I can feel him struggle to control his trembling fingers as he forces my pants over my knee.

"No-mine wouldn't still be this red."

"I'm fine. Let's just go. We'll put something on it at the center."

He ignores my comment altogether and his eyes remain on my leg. A small furrow forms between his eyebrows, "I don't get it. Where's it all coming from?"

He lifts my pant leg as far up my thigh as it will go. He hesitates for a moment, then looks up at me, "Take them off."

"What?"

"Your pants."

"What? No."

"I can't see the injury. Come on, just take them off."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes!"

"No-we're by a main road."

"There's nobody here." He says.

"_You're_ here."

"I've seen it all before."

"I don't think so."

His eyes remain fixated on me, waiting for me to give in. He grips my pant leg in his fists and in one solid rip, tears it apart.

"Phillip!" I say.

I can hear the threads of fabric snapping as he forces the slit further up my thigh.

"Relax, the center will get you new ones." He says.

His eyes widen as he stares at something just out of my line of sight.

"What is it?" I say.

He holds out his hand to me, "Come on. We gotta go."

"What's wrong?"

He throws the bags over his shoulder and helps me to my feet. The shreds of my former pant leg dangle through the mud. He grips my hand and starts guiding me toward the small hint of lights down the road.

"Philip-"

He doesn't turn around-only guides me forward.

"Phillip, what is it?"

"The blood-It's not coming from you leg."

"I told you it was fine."

He waves me off, "No, you don't get it!"

"So explain it to me!"

He stops suddenly and turns to face me, "It's not coming from your leg."

"Yes, I get that. You said that alrea-"

The air rushes from my chest and I drop his hand from mine. I'm suddenly standing motionless by the side of the road, trying to take it all in. He thinks I'm losing the baby? Can that even happen so soon?

He forcefully grabs my hand and continues leading, "No wonder you didn't say anything! You weren't worried-Hell, you were probably relieved."

"What? No…"

My voice trails off, powerless against his anger.

"How could you not have felt it?" he glares back at me, "Hmmm? You must have known-"

I shake my head, "No, I swear I didn't f-"

"When did it start?!"

I stumble over the rocks and branches as he drags me closer to the small cluster of civilization down the street.

"When did it start?!" he commands.

"I don't know." I say quietly.

"How could you not know!?"

The bright lights of a car cast a shadow over the rough lines of his face, "Only you, Elizabeth. Only you would keep quiet while your biggest problem drips down your leg."

He raises his free arm and waves it through the air as the lone car drives toward us.

He shakes his head and mutters under his breath, "Of all people to get paired with."

The car slows in front of us and a small man with only the slightest bit of gray hair remaining rolls down his window.

"Don't steal it." I whisper.

Phillip rolls his eyes and pulls a few dollars from his bag. He holds the fan bills in front of the old man.

"Could you get us to St. Vincent?"

The man stares blankly back at Phillip.

Phillip gestures toward me, "Please, she's not feeling well. We need to get to the hospital. Can you get us to St. Vincent?"

The man looks back and forth between us, then finally says, "I'm sorry, I don't speak English."

In perfect Russian.

Phillip shakes his head back and forth as if he didn't understand a word the man just said, "Hospital," he says. He gestures at the bandage on my head, then to the red stains on my pants, "Doctor. Can you get us there?"

"I'm sorry my English isn't very good." The old man says in Russian.

Phillip masks his comprehension once again, "The doctor. Can you get us there?"

"Phillip," I say quietly, "You really want to waste time playing charades?"

He looks down both sides of the long, empty road. He then glances behind him, where only the trees stand watching us. Leaning in close to the open window, he scans the backseat for any other visitors in the car.

Phillip takes a deep breath, taking time to recall the language he had buried deep within his mind long ago. Then, with the most words in Russian I've ever heard my husband speak, tells the driver, "I need you to get us to the nearest hospital."

He tells them we were in a car accident. He fell asleep at the wheel after driving through the night. The car went over the bridge into the river—he hurt his leg, his wife bumped her head on the dashboard.

I lean over the edge of my tiny metal bed to watch Phillip continue with the young doctor. With every word the man scribbles more in the chart-completely unaware that he's writing only fiction.

Phillip explains that we were driving home from visiting relatives in Virginia—that we had driven there for the weekend to tell his parents our big news. He tells the doctor he is worried sick about his wife's head injury and begs them to make sure I didn't have a concussion.

Then he tells them the real reason he is concerned.

I can't hear what the doctor says back to him. He just gives Phillip a reassuring pat on the back and walks away.

Phillip turns and comes back toward my bed. I adjust my hospital gown and lean against my flat pillow. Phillip closes the curtain around us and takes a seat by my bed. I lower my eyes, carefully avoiding his gaze.

We sit in our own silence. The empty space weakly filled with the sound of pages and rolling gurneys.

"Did you…" I say.

Phillip looks up at me and I struggle to get the words out.

"Did you…mean what you said back there?"

"When?" He says quietly.

I scoff, "When? You know when. When you said you wish you had married anyone else but me."

"I didn't say that."

"But that's what you meant, isn't it?"

"I was upset."

"And I wasn't?"

He takes a seat next to me on my bed, "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"If I had noticed something….if I had felt something earlier, I would have told you."

He looks away from me, "I know."

"What did the doctor say?"

"He said it's too soon to tell for sure but most cases like this—don't end well."

I nod, unsure of what to say.

"So you must be pretty relieved. Huh? The center probably won't make you try again for at least another six months."

"Phillip…"

His eyes redden and he looks down at his hands, "Maybe you could get a whole year if you play your cards right."

He forces back a sniffle and clears his throat, "I guess if you want 'out,' now is your chance."

"I don't want out." I say quietly.

He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and swallows hard, "It's just- I haven't seen a relative in six years, you know?"

"I know." I say.

"The baby was the only family I had left."

"Hey," I cup his chin in my hand and turn his face toward me, "I'm your family." I take my thumb and wipe a tear from his cheek, "We're in this together."

The curtain swings open and the doctor greets us both with a slight nod.

"So," he says, tightly gripping my chart, "We need to talk."


	10. Chapter 10

Hey everyone! Thanks so much for all your comments and support! Here's the next chapter! Do you think Elizabeth acts too weak in it?

We don't speak the entire cab ride back to the apartment. At home, Phillip mumbles something about getting cleaned up and heads back to our room. I collapse onto the couch, hoping to continue the night's sleep I never was able to finish. Just as my eyelids begin to droop the phone rings-two solid rings and then nothing-the center's signal for a last minute meet.

I scribble a quick note for Phillip and leave it on the kitchen counter. I change into some fresh clothes and run a comb through my knotted hair. I let the sound of his shower mask my movement and slip out of the apartment.

I knew he'd want a meet. There was no way he'd let me off that easy. By now, our contacts must have figured out that we weren't coming-and, more importantly, neither was Wyle.

I find Vlad's superior, Ilya, waiting for me in his office. He sits behind his desk in his usual tan suit and thin tie, tapping his fingers as he reads. My heart thumps against my chest at the site of him. Not even the slight smile coming from the corner of his lips help his menacing eyes, his powerful hands, his protruding jaw.

"Elizabeth, please sit."

He gestures to a small chair across from him and I comply. As soon as I sit, he rises to his feet. His stature towers over me as he paces across the room.

"It has come to my attention that the events of last night did not go according to procedure."

"Sir, I'd just…"

He stops and holds up one finger, "You will wait until I'm finished."

I settle back down in my seat and stare straight ahead. He looks down at the floor and continues with his pacing.

"You said at our last meeting that in the past Phillip's work has not been up to your expectations."

I swallow hard at the recollection. He takes out a small scrap of paper from his pocket.

"That he," Ilya looks down at the paper in his hands, "lacks focus. Is too emotional. Not right for the job."

"That was—a long time ago." I say.

"The report's dated three weeks ago."

I shake my head, unable to find the right words.

"And now, on what was supposed to be a night of celebration, our guest of honor, Wyle, is nowhere to be found."

He kneels down beside me so close I can smell his sharp cologne, follow the maze of wrinkles that crease his forehead.

"So I'd like to know how two of our greatest could lose a weak, old, American."

I can feel the sweat beading by my ears. I grip the arms of the chair tightly and take a deep breath.

"Phillip had been shot." I say.

"So I've heard," he says flatly.

"When I stopped the car to get supplies to take care of Phillip he fled."

"Why wasn't he in restraints?"

"The ankle cuffs were not functioning properly. We-couldn't get them to lock so he only had hand restraints."

"Is that right?" He says.

I nod, hoping he can't hear my heart pounding just feet away from him.

"Yes, sir."

"They found the ankle cuffs beside the car. Phillip's key was still in the lock."

The color drains from my face and my skin turns cool and clammy. Ilya leans in closer to me. When he raises his hand I flinch back, expecting the worst. But instead he takes my hand in his.

"Elizabeth, you don't have to cover for him."

Shock stops the words from coming and I simply nod. He takes his other hand and gently strokes the back of my hand.

"A woman should be protected by her man, not the other way around And I know Wyle couldn't have stolen Phillip's keys and opened it himself—after all he was in handcuffs." He leans in closer, "Now, tell me. What really happened?"

I stay quiet and he grows impatient, "Whoever responsible needs to be punished. Tell me, what happened."

His grip around my hand grows tighter and I can see the pink fading from my hand. Finally I manage to speak.

"Phillip was injured."

"So you've said."

"He was in a lot of pain. The doctor said he could help him, if someone took off his restraints."

"And who took off his restraints."

By now he's squeezing my hand so forcefully I can feel my pulse across my fingers.

"Who took off the restraints?!" He commands.

"Phillip!" I say, "It was Phillip."


	11. Chapter 11

I've been working on some other material but I just couldn't leave you guys hanging! I hope you enjoy the next chapter! Do you all want me to stay on Elizabeth or switch perspectives? Happy reading!

"Please!" I say, "Please let me handle it. I'll talk to him."

"He defied direct orders from his superiors!" Ilya slams his fist against the table and I jump back.

"If it wasn't for him we never would have found Wyle." I protest.

"If it wasn't for him we'd have Wyle in our custody now." He says.

Ilya picks up the phone from his desk and begins to dial. I throw my hand on top of his and force it down.

"I told you, he was in pain, he wasn't thinking clearly. If you report him you'll be risking his future in this operation." I say.

"He is a risk to us. You said so yourself."

"And what will we tell the neighbors when the strange men in suits come take him away in the middle of the night? Hmm? We live in the suburbs and these Americans are watching us all the time."

Ilya begins to slowly remove the receiver from his ear and I continue, "How will I explain that my husband mysteriously disappeared and that within months I'm over him and have a new boyfriend? _That's_ what's too risky."

"You won't have to explain anything. We could have you out of here by tomorrow."

"My mission is here."

Ilya returns to his seat and leans in just a little too close.

"Elizabeth, you are one of our most talented young agents. If you continue on this path one day you could be sitting where I am. Why would you want to let a screw-up like Phillip ruin your chances at all that?"

Once again I feel his cold fingers entangle themselves between mine, "Do you know what your success in this organization could mean for your future? For your family's future?"

I look deeply into his eyes, "Phillip is my family."

He shakes his head, "You and I both know that isn't true." His hand travels to my leg and I feel his old fingers rest on my knee, "Look, I understand that he means something to you so I am willing to negotiate" His fingers begin to migrate further up my thigh, "Perhaps we could work out some kind of arrangement? Just the two of us."

I swallow hard and take a deep breath "We're having a baby together"

His eyes widen and he instantly pulls his hand away.

"I think that makes us family." I say.

He looks back up at me with far less strength in his eyes. Suddenly he seems thoroughly uncomfortable to be having this conversation with me, to be in this room with me. "But…this wasn't reported to the center."

"It wasn't official until today." I say.

"When?"

"Doctor says January."

"And Phillip?" he says.

"It's one more thing I couldn't have done without him."

"I see." Ilya says stoically.

"Aren't you pleased? This was our order." I say.

"Of course," he says quietly.

"I believe at this point we were supposed to be offered an official bonus of some kind."

"It's not much, an increase in stipend for both of you."

"I'm willing to negotiate myself." I say.

"Now you are a businessman too?" he says.

"You can personally keep our increase in salary. In exchange, I want your silence about the Wyle case."

"I already told you, it's not much."

"Back home, 'not much' could feed your family for months."

He fiddles with the random papers on his desk then gives a slight nod, "Alright."

"Not a word?" I say.

He nods, "Not a word.

"Are we done here?" I say.

"No, I want you to call Phillip in here. We're not letting him go that easily."


End file.
